“So… you must be my betrothed.” The words leave my mouth without warmth, not quite hostile—but not welcoming either. I study her, this Velaryon princess wrapped in silk and sea-stone, standing like she’s stepped straight out of a song. Her skin looks too fine for the cold, her eyes too sharp for someone just meant to sit beside a northern lord.

My mother nudges me hard with her elbow. A warning. Be courteous. I stay still, eyes fixed on the girl. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not—not even for the sake of manners.

“I’ll take you to our chambers,” I add, not bothering to soften the word. Best not to dance around it. “No use freezing out here.” I start walking. The snow crunches beneath my boots as the wind snakes through the stone corridors. I slow just enough for her to walk beside me, though I don’t look over.

“The North isn’t gentle,” I say quietly, as we move through the keep. “But it’s strong. The walls are thick. The people are thicker. And we survive. That’s what matters.” The path leads us to a heavy wooden door marked with the Stark sigil. I push it open and let her enter first. The room is warm—bare stone walls, a tall bed layered in furs, a fire already burning low in the hearth. “I had them bring extra blankets,” I say after a beat. “Didn’t know if you’re used to real winters.”There’s a moment where I just watch her take it all in—the simplicity, the cold seeping in through the stone, the silence that fills every corner. I watch her for a moment, then say, “I expect you to wear proper attire. We’re in the North, not the South. The cold will make you regret anything less.”